


Together is Enough

by JBGRiMm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBGRiMm/pseuds/JBGRiMm
Summary: Isaac is a veteran who survived war and his father.Derek is a man haunted by the woman who abused him and murdered his family.Stiles is a recovering drug addict who never got to say goodbye.Can these three men find each other, and with each other, hope?





	1. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Random idea I had, shouldn't be longer than five chapters total.

"Isaac!"

Isaac looks up to see DeAnna, the woman who owns the laundromat, glaring at him.

"Yes boss?"

"Why aren't the lint traps cleaned out yet?"

 _Because I'm your only employee and I'm still mopping the floor._ "I'm planning to do that as soon as I've finished up mopping."

"If one of those machines runs while the lint trap is full it'll start a fire and burn this place to the ground. Is that what you want?" DeAnna asks, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

 _Is that what you want.._ Isaac pushes the triggering sentence out of his hand and quickly says "No ma'am. I'll go clean them out as soon as I'm done here. I promise."

"Make sure that you do. You're not exactly irreplaceable Isaac," says DeAnna before turning and stalking back into her office. Isaac turns away from the mirror he knows is a two way glass and rolls his eyes. In the three months he's worked this custodial job at the QikKleen Laundromat, he's never gotten through a day without DeAnna venting her suspicions on him. Isaac is planning to steal the cash she keeps in the office. Isaac didn't dust the light fixtures because he wants customers to go somewhere else. Isaac is five minutes late because he wants payback for how tough she is. All the while, Isaac stands still and lets her vent, silently pitying her.   
  


Because he knows that there is nothing she can do to him that can hurt him worse than his past.

 

Isaac finishes mopping the floor and the cleans out the lint traps, as he promised. He also cleans the bathroom, wipes the grime off the front window, and dusts on top of the machines. An hour later he's shoved himself into his hoodie and scarf, punched out and is out of the laundromat on his way home. Walking past the lighted windows of the strip mall in Beacon Hills Plaza, he thinks to the rhythm of his steps. His leg throbs with each step, like a drumbeat.

Step. Pain.  _Convoy, what's your status?_

Step. Pain.  _Vehicle approaching._

Step. Pain.  _Hostiles! Engage!_

Step. Pain.  _Scott! Scott!_

Isaac pauses, tenses his head, and pushes the memories out. He still feels them, but its not so present, and he can handle the ghosts. They've been with him long enough. 

His mother's ghost, staring at him from the bottom of the basement stairs.

Camden's ghost, tousling his hair and waving goodbye.

His father's ghost, blind fury behind the glasses while he's dragged away.

Scott, blood dripping out of his mouth, his eyes...

Isaac makes it to the bus stop and sits down on the bench. He shuts his eyes, and breathes. _In out. In out. Inhale oxygen, exhale carbon dioxide. Simple realities. Your name is Isaac Lahey. You're twenty-two years old. Your father killed your mother. Your father abused you. Your best friend and lover died in that desert. None of this is your fault. One day you will understand this._

Isaac repeats that again and again until he can believe it, then opens his eyes. He's still sitting on the bench, still looking out at the lighted street in front of him, the small amount of people out this late, and breathes out. It's over, for now.

It's then that he realizes he's not alone at the bus stop. There's another young man sitting on the opposite side of the bench, a backpack resting at his feet. He's lanky, wearing jeans with a plaid shirt worn as a jacket, his pale skin flecked with moles and his brown hair is a mess. Isaac doesn't know him, has never seen him before in his life. But something about him looks so familiar, and he can't place it. 

He only realizes he's staring when the other man flicks his eyes at him in a  _who the shit is this weirdo?_ look.

"Sorry, you look familiar," says Isaac, looking away.

"Believe me, if you and I knew each other you'd remember," says the other man snarkily. Watching out of the corner of his eye, Isaac sees the way the other man clenches his hands around his elbows, and makes a guess.

"How long?" he asks.

Plaid-Shirt looks at him askance.

"How long what?"

"Since you used," said Isaac, noting the involuntary flinch from the other man that proves him right.

"How could you tell?" he asks.

"It's the way you're sitting. Couple of guys started using after they got back stateside, and you could always tell from how they'd hold their arms."

Plaid-Shirt turns to him and says

"Well congrats Dr. Freud, you got it right. I'm into smack and I love it, and it's been killing me the last four days so now, thanks to you I'm probably going to go meet my dealer after this chat and shoot up until I don't care anymore. So thank you, thank you so much for your psychoanalysis. I appreciate it, I do."

"You're welcome," says Isaac. This provokes Plaid-Shirt even more, going off

"So what, you just expose people's darkest secrets and leave them out to deal with it? What the hell is your deal? You feel like you've already been through so much that it doesn't matter who you hurt now, is that it? Huh?" He stops and looks at Isaac, wide-eyed, demanding an answer.

"No," says Isaac " I've been through so much that I know I'm not responsible for other people's actions."

"Yeah well that's..well," says Plaid-Shirt, slumping back against the bench, clearly out of steam.

"Congrats though, on making it four days," says Isaac.

"Four days since the detox so technically six, but I don't really count that because...well, you know," says Plaid-Shirt.

"I don't actually, I had a bit of a problem with oxy after I got back back I've managed without it for almost a year now," Isaac responds.  _Has it really been a year?_

"Well lucky you," says Plaid-Shirt. They sit in silence until Isaac sees the bus approaching from down the street.

"Where do you live?" he asks Plaid-Shirt.

"Why?" 

"Because I was gonna offer you my couch for tonight if you want to aim for five days," he says.

"What I'm supposed to go home with some random stranger? Sorry man, I stopped hooking up with random dudes when I was twenty."

 _Hooking up_ sends a stab through his heart, but Isaac swallows it and says 

"You're really not my type, and my name's Isaac Lahey, I live at 64 Willow Creek Road, Unit 6, so now I'm not a stranger. Still gonna act like a bitch?"

Plaid-Shirt quirks an eyebrow at Isaac, and then sighs. For a moment Isaac sees him without the sarcasm and snark, and he looks strangely vulnerable, lost even.

"Actually that sounds okay. Better than scratching my arms up while I'm staring at my wall."

"Great," says Isaac.

"And I'm Stiles, FYI."

 _Stiles._ And a wave of memories hit him as the bus pulls up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Just to Get it All Out (What's in My Head)

64 Willow Creek Road is a house painted white with a grey roof, single family at one point and now subdivided into cheap apartments. It's not a great neighborhood but it seems quiet enough to Stiles. People won't leave belongings unattended here, or cars unlocked, so there's nothing to steal. Pretending to be from a charity wouldn't work for this neighborhood either, with the residents seeming to be mainly low income and transient...

Stiles shuts his eyes and breathes in.  _Stop._  

"You alright?" Isaac asks, key in hand. 

"Yeah, fine," Stiles says, mentally refocusing on Isaac. Isaac. He's still not sure what to make of him. He's tall, blond, and there's enough pain behind his eyes to fill an ocean. His hoodie and scarf are clearly very old and raggedy, so either he doesn't want to spend the money to replace them or he's emotionally attached to them. And somehow, this person knew Scott. He'd refused to say anything until the bus had dropped them off, and the part of Stiles brain not demanding heroin wants answers.

Isaac turns back and unlocks the front door, holding it open for Stiles to enter. Wordlessly, he leads Stiles into a narrow hallway and up a staircase into a dark hallway. Pulling out another key he unlocks a door with a plastic number "6" stuck to it and says

"Come on in."   
  


Stiles walks in and Isaac shuts and locks the door behind him, momentarily leaving them in darkness before Isaac flips on a lamp. By the light Stiles can see all of Isaac's apartment.

It's one room and tiny, but meticulously clean and noticeably absent of clutter. Sparsely furnished too. There's a mattress in one corner covered by grey bedspread, a sagging futon missing it's frame leaning against the wall (the aforementioned "couch" Stiles assumes), a desk next to the door where the lamp sits, and a small white refrigerator with a microwave sitting on top. Second door, presumably a closet. Cell-phone charger plugged into the wall next to the bed, along with a second lamp. Some photos are tacked up over the bed. Nothing else. Nothing he could sneak into his pockets and sell later, and no cash lying around.  _Stop._

"Have a seat," Isaac says, motioning to the futon. Stiles flops down on the futon and drops his backpack ned to him while Isaac perches on the edge of his mattress, his scarf awkwardly balled in his hands before he set it aside.

"So how do you know Scott?" Stiles asks bluntly. He notes the stricken look that crosses Isaac's face, before becoming stony.

"We were in the same company, stationed in Kabul," Isaac says "I met him over here during basic training and we shipped out together, but we didn't really become friends until a month or so later."

"What happened?" Stiles asked.

"I...I don't really know he and I just started chatting one day and found out we both played lacrosse on high school. After that it sorta just...happened. We'd meet up on base, just stand and talk in our free time. He was just so..." Isaac stops and looks at a loss for words.

"Happy," Stiles fills in.

"Yeah kinda, it's like we were in the worst possible place, and he still was just so happy with his life. He enlisted so he could go to college after and he was always talking about how he wanted to be a veterinarian. He talked about you too, a lot."

That sends an unexpected icicle of cold into Stiles' heart. Ignoring it, he asks

"What did he say?"

"Just...how great of a guy you were. He talked a lot about how you were there for him after Allison was killed," (another icicle) " and about how you guys would listen to your dad's police scanner and watch crime scenes from your Jeep." Stiles chuckles at that, and for a moment his heart feels a little lighter, remembering good times.

Isaac is quiet for a minute, idly toying with the cuff of his hoodie.

"Two months before we were supposed to go home Scott, me and eight other guys were assigned convoy protection. We had to transport MREs and water from Kabul to Gizab. It was about three-hundred and seventy something miles, so ten hours each way. We got there no problem but on the way back...."

Isaac stops talking and goes completely still. It's a look Stiles can recognize, when you're not seeing anything other than whats in your head, and he suddenly feels guilty, for making him relive the story Stiles had already heard from the heard at Scott's funeral. 

"Isaac it's okay, you don't..."

Isaac suddenly looks right up at Stiles, his eyes wide and desperate and words coming out so fast Stiles can barely hear him

"I didn't even know what was happening until they started shooting it was so dark we'd stopped to dismantle an IED and suddenly they were everywhere a bullet went through my leg and shattered my humerus and then something hit the IED and everything went up I saw him I saw him Stiles he was looking at me and it was like he was trying to ask me why he was bleeding and I couldn't get to him in time I tried I tried so hard but I couldn't crawl fast enough he bled out in front of me Stiles I couldn't I...I....

Isaac is shaking now, fists balled and he's not talking now, just looking right at Stiles, through Stiles. And Stiles realizes he's staring at Scott, how he must have looked at him that night. And Stiles stays still. A part of him wants to go to Isaac, wrap his arms around his shoulders and tell him it wasn't his fault, that it was okay. But he couldn't. So he sits there as Isaac shook and gasped, and talks him through it.

"Breathe, Isaac" he says. "Breathe."

After what could have been five minutes or an hour Isaac's panic attack stops. Isaac balls his fists in his lap and looks at Stiles directly

"I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay." Says Stiles in return. Something nags at him , but he decides to wait. He's an addict, and he knows what he is- selfish, a user of people to further his own needs. His intelligence and ability to read people helps that, helps him see who's vulnerable and who can be exploited.

But he wants to be better. 

So instead he says "I was already using before Scott left. I used to do prescription meds but... they stopped cutting it after awhile. Scott knew, and he helped me back when it wasn't so bad. I was...I was better I think, before he left. But then he was gone and I was just..." he stops and looks for the right word.

"Lonely," says Isaac. Another icicle to the heart as Stiles nods.

"Yeah, lonely. And it just got so easy to use. When I found out Scott wasn't coming coming home it was honestly easier to keep going than stop. You know how much heroin costs?"

Isaac doesn't seem to realize Stiles is actually waiting for a response so Stiles waves a hand in his face to get his attention.

"Oh sorry," says Isaac "Uh...how much?"

"Ten dollars," Stiles says with a laugh. "Ten bucks and I don't have to fucking care that my best friends are both dead. I don't have to care about my mom. I don't have to care about...anything man."

He's quiet for a moment, steeling himself for what comes next. His mind screams for more, to blow a stranger in Jungle for ten bucks, beat Isaac up and steal his wallet and buy some so he doesn't have to do this. Ten bucks. Ten bucks and he wouldn't have to do this. And then he sees the picture ever Isaac's bed.

There's two soldiers dressed in fatigues, the taller one with his arm slung around the shorter ones shoulders. The taller one is Isaac, his hair shorter and his eyes lighter. And the shorter one...he'd know that crooked jaw and that honest, open smile anywhere. Scott.

So he takes a deep breath, and continues.

"So then about three weeks ago I saw this...this newspaper. I don't know why the guy had it it was just on his table and it was about my dad. He was...he'd been shot, I guess, and was in critical condition. That's what the article said, at least. By the time I got down to the hospital he was..." Stiles looks at Isaac then, and he can feel the wetness in his eyes.

"The newspaper was from a week before."

"Shit," Isaac says, but Stile's is bawling and can't hear him. He curls up and pulls his head down between his knees and sobs- loud and broken, gasping in between. It's the sound a dying animal would make and Stiles can't help but think that's true.

After awhile the tears run their course and Stiles looks up at Isaac, who's sitting there looking confused and unsure of what to do.

"So, anyways, um..." Stiles says, wiping his eyes "I hadn't spoken to him in like, a year. And no one else will talk to me now so..."

Stiles sighs. 

"I usually make it about four or six days, you know, before I use again. And then I have to go through the whole detox again- not fun, not at all but then you've been shot so you probably have some idea what it's like."

Isaac lets out a short laugh at that, and Stiles cracks a smile too.

"Yeah so...yeah, thats my deal. Most of it, anyways."

"That's a lot," says Isaac.

"So's yours."

"Well...yeah."

They sit in silence for a moment, before Isaac asks

"Are you hungry? I was going to heat up some ramen or something for dinner but I could make a little extra."

"Sure that sounds good...here," says Stiles, fishing around in his jean's pocket and pulling out two crumpled dollar bills.

"No Stiles it's fine you don't have too..."

"Take it. It's two dollars I can't spend on smack," he says, and Isaac just nods and take it. Going over to the desk he opens a drawer and pulls out two instant ramen cups and sticks them in the microwave. They're done in a minute and he brings them over to the couch with a pair of mismatched forks. Instead of sitting back on the bed he sits down next to Stiles on the couch, and Stiles shifts his backpack to give him more room. They eat in silence, and when they're done Isaac puts the empty bowls on the desk and pulls a bag of toiletries from the top drawer.

"Come with me and I'll show you where the bathroom is, so you can brush your teeth and stuff," he says.

"Do I have to get up?" Stiles asks.

"Actually yes," says Isaac "I like you Stiles, but you've been clean for six days and I don't want to have to replace my microwave. So come on."

"Fair point, fair point," says Stiles, grabbing his backpack and following Isaac into the hallway.

The bathroom is at the end of the hallway. It's small but clean, and when they're done brushing their teeth Stile's announces he's taking a shower. Isaac turns away as he strips and climbs into the shower stall, and Stiles sighs with relief when the water pours over his body. His last shower had been four days ago, and the water had been ice cold. It had helped then, to revitalize him after his painful as hell detox but it was also an ice cold shower. He looks down at his forearms, and traces a finger over the dark maroon track marks on his left arm, idly wondering how much time Isaac will need to go through the backpack he left very obviously on the counter next to the sink. He gives him four minutes, then climbs out of the shower. Isaac is gone but Stiles can tell his bag has been shifted slightly. He doesn't care, honestly. There's nothing important in there. He keeps his money in his pocket and he'd flushed the last of his stash six days ago, along with the rest of his paraphernalia. 

Stuffing his jeans into the bag and carrying his sneakers in his hands he walks back to Isaacs room. Isaac is fully clothed and lying in bed, reading a narrow paper back book when Stiles comes in, but looks up when Stiles comes in and asks him to lock the door.

Isaac also had laid out an extra pillow and blanket for Stiles on the futon, neatly folded, and Stiles shucks off his plaid shirt and curls up under the blanket, before lying back and looking at the ceiling.

"Is the light gonna bother you? I usually read for like half an hour or so." asks Isaac.

"Nah it's cool," says Stiles. 

"Great," says Isaac, turing his attention back to his book-  _The Call of the Wild_ \- Stiles sees, and remembers that Scott used to read that book all the time. For a moment Stiles wants to ask Isaac if his suspicions are right, if Isaac was the person Scott had been so excited about in the last email he'd sent to Stiles.

"Hey Isaac?"

"Yeah?"

But it could wait.

Stiles the addict had only thought up to the next score, the next ten dollars that would take him there. Stiles the recovering addict tried to- _had to_ \- think further ahead.

"Thanks...for everything."

"You too," Isaac says back.

Satisfied, Stiles closes his eyes, and waits to fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is From "What's Going On?" by 4 Non Blondes.   
> Next chapter should be up either tomorrow night or the next day. Regardless, it's going to be Derek's first appearance.   
> If you celebrate, Merry Christmas. If you don't, have a great day, regardless.


	3. What's the Hook, the Twist?

THREE WEEKS LATER

_Twenty-one...twenty-two....twenty-three..._

Derek pushes his fingers down against the metal doorframe and pulls himself up for his twenty-fifth pull-up, letting the counting mantra and the physical extertion dominate his mind. Reaching thirty he drops down and starts doing push ups, the tile floor gritty against his palms, tiny pieces of dust and other detritus pushing into his skin with minor pain...

... _long fingernails digging into his arm, going deep. Hurting._

_"Just focus on the act, Derek,"_ _she's saying, teeth barred in a feral smile._

Derek surges upwards, clapping his hands on the push, distracting his thoughts, taking him out of the painful and confusing memories.

After about twenty or thirty push ups he stops, and rocks back on the balls of his feet, gripping his head in his right hand.

Eight years. It's been eight years since Kate, and he still can't get her out of his mind. 

 _Your problem._ Shut up _. You know I'm right._ Shut up _. You deserved it, fucking idiot._ Shut up.

Getting up he grabs his scrub top and pulls it over his head, and picks his kale-mango-chia smoothie off the shelf and finishes it. Exiting the open supply closet he tosses the plastic cup in a trash can and walks into the main part of the ER.

"Derek, hey you're back from your break," says one of the nurses behind the desk, looking relieved.

"Yeah, sorry just I got held up by the fractured skull and figured I'd be able to get a smoothie faster," he says apologetically.

"Seriously, how do you eat so little?" she asks, sounding concerned.

"It's got lots of protein and I make sure to eat a big lunch," he responds. She still looks worried so he continues

"Don't worry about me Melissa I'm good."

Melissa nods and turns back to her computer. Derek reaches across the counter, picks up a clipboard and starts making rounds. 

He goes from room to room, asks the same questions: how do you feel now, what insurance do you have, no results yet-sorry. It's almost three in the morning on a Wednesday and the ER is mostly quiet now, and he's getting antsy. He likes how being a nurse kept him busy, and ER is the best for that- patients in, out and and gone as quickly as possible, and without that his thoughts were starting to creep into his head again. He quickens his pace, re-reads the forms again but it's not working just prolonging the wait before he has to go back to the snake pit that is his mind, the constant slow-motion replay of his life's mistakes with the commentary from hell. 

He's almost ready to try sneaking back to his closet and doing more pull-ups when the doors open and two paramedics come through with a young man on a gurney. 

"What've we got?" He asks, moving forward, relieved.

"Heroin overdose," says one of the paramedics, already pushing the gurney into the ER. Derek keeps pace, continuing his questioning.

"You've administered Narcan?" 

"Yes but we don't know how long he's been like this, and he's arrythmatic." Derek nods and directs them into an empty room where they transfer the young man to a bed. Derek takes over after that, setting up a saline IV and monitor and checking breathing, blood pressure, and heart rate. Breathing has picked up but is still low, thirteen breaths per minute, and blood pressure and heart rate are also understandably low, but they're climbing when Derek checks a second time. Midway through the second check he hears some kind of commotion out in the hall and a tall blonde man comes in the door, seemingly agitated.

"How is he?"

"Who are you?" Derek asks bluntly.

"His brother," the blond guy says. Derek looks down at the lanky, pale brunette and back and back the the blonde guy, who's looking at him seemingly ready for him to try and claim he's anything BUT his brother.

"Right, okay," says Derek "Well he's still pretty weak but the Narcan seems to be working and he should be fine."

"Okay, great what can I do?" asks the blonde guy.

"It would help if I knew his name, address, all that stuff, so can you help me with that?" asks Derek. The blonde guy nods, so Derek continues.

"What's his name?"

"Stiles Stilinski."

"Date of birth?"

"Not sure, but he's twenty-two so has to be in 1993."

"Okay," says Derek, making a note "where does he live?"

"With me at 64 Willow Creek Road, Unit 6, Beacon Hills 94541." The blonde guy rattles off.

"Emergency contact?"

"Me, Isaac Lahey, cell phone is 510-201-0324."

"Uh-huh," says Derek, choosing not to ask how they're brothers with different last names. It's only assholes who enforce the immediate-family policy in the ER.

"Do you know his insurance provider?" asks Derek.

Isaac looks at him bug-eyed.

"Insurance provider. Are you serious?!" Isaac yells at him, gesturing to the unconscious man on the bed.

"I'm sorry, I have to ask, hospital policy," says Derek, scribbling in the information Isaac had already given him. For a moment Isaac looks like he's about to start screaming. Derek's been on the receiving end of that more than a few times- the ER brings out the rawest, deepest emotions in people. He welcomes it, honestly a part of him enjoys being the punching bag of hurting people.

He's the reason so many people are dead. Why shouldn't he feel everyone else's pain?

But then Isaac's eyes flick to the bed, and he freezes. Derek watches him, curious. Raw emotion, barely suppressed feelings, detachment. He's seen all of these things and he knows what they look like. But this...this is different. Isaac's looking at the man- Stiles- and his lips are trembling with the barest suggestions of words. This lasts for a few seconds, and then Isaac breathes out and looks back at Derek, his anger gone.

"Alright, I understand. How long until he wakes up?" Isaac asks.

"Shouldn't be too much longer, but he's been through the wringer so he'll be pretty weak when he does. Will you be staying here with him?"

"I will," says Isaac.

"Great, let someone know if he wakes up, I'll be back in later," says Derek, exiting the room. As he goes to log the information he thinks about Isaac and Stiles. Isaac had surprised him, with how he'd not so much gotten control of his emotions but seemingly processed them in a short amount of time. As he sits down at the computer and starts typing, his thoughts go further. Isaac and Stiles are clearly not brothers. Are they friends? Probably. Boyfriends? Maybe. 

_Trying to ruin something else?_

Derek turns away from his thoughts of Stiles and Isaac and finishes the report. After that he logs in the rest of the patient information and then leans back and yawns. It's late. He's tired, despite himself.  Getting back up he swings though the ER again, re-checking patients vitals and giving the same non-information to their waiting families. As he nears the room Stile's and Isaac are in he hears voices inside, and pauses, listening.

-show up just let me do the talking okay? Actually you probably don't want to be here."

"Stiles, you just OD'd. Like hell I'm leaving you alone."

"Don't be such a drama queen."

"You would have fucking died if I hadn't found you, you know that right?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry, I really am Isaac, but I didn't know that was going to happen. It's my usual amount it should have just gotten me high."

"Was this your first time?"

"Gee what a personal question..."

"Stiles."

"Yes. It's my first time in twenty-eight days. My longest yet, alright? I guess we go back to the drawing board now."

"This really isn't funny Stiles."

"Don't be such a sourpuss."

_Fucking perv._

Derek jolts out of his eavesdropping and walks in. Isaac and Stiles both look up from their conversation.

"Hey, good to see you're awake Mr. Stilinski," says Derek, noting the time on his clipboard.

"Call me Stiles please doc," says Stiles weakly.

"Not a doctor, just a nurse," says Derek automatically "How do you feel?"

"Fantastic, can I go now?" asks Stiles.

"Sorry, we're going to keep you at least until morning, but we'll be transferring you out of the ER as soon as possible."

"Oh come on, I'm fine, look," says Stiles, gesturing at the monitor. Derek looks and sees that Stiles is technically right, his vitals are improving.

"You still need to be kept in observation, and you need to speak with the police," says Derek.

"Right, I figured as much," said Stiles, lying back against the bed and letting out a frustrated sigh. Derek is surprised. Usually OD victims try and bargain their way out of the police meeting.

"Any idea when he'll be moved out of here?" asks Isaac, speaking to Derek for the first time. 

"I'll put the request in as soon as I leave so maybe ten-twenty minutes?" says Derek, copying down the monitors readings. 

"Sounds good," says Isaac, folding his arms against his hoodie.

"Alright, I'll go put that in then. Oh, and Stiles can you tell me what insurance provider you have?"

"Anthem Blue Cross, so I think this is covered?" Stiles says, sounding unsure. Derek notices his eyes move to Isaac while he's talking.

"Yeah that should cover this," says Derek filling in the insurance information. "Do you have your card on you?" 

"No, sorry I left it in my wallet at Isaac's," says Stiles. Derek makes a noncommittal noise and then says 

"Alright, I'll go put the order in."

"Thanks nurse..." Stiles says, trailing off.

"Derek," says Derek.

"Well thanks then nurse Derek," says Stiles.

"Not a problem," he says, leaving.

Out in the hallway, Derek sighs, and runs an hand over his face. There's something perplexing to him about Isaac and Stiles, something about the way they interact that intrigues him. The way Isaac cares very clearly for Stiles, and the way Stiles turned to Isaac in the only moment of uncertainty, the only moment of weakness he showed to Derek...there's something there. Something that doesn't seem so clear cut as either just friends or boyfriends.

_"So does this mean I'm your boyfriend?"_

_"What are you, twelve?"_

_"Sorry, I just..."_

_"No I understand. Just....why put_ _meaningless words on something so special? Hmm Derek? You're coming by tomorrow right?"_

_"Sure, yeah!"_

_"Good, good...see you then sweetie."_

Derek cringes from the memory.

_Sweetie...you ate it up, didn't you? Poor lonely Derek- couldn't see Kate for what she was and your parents and sister had to pay the price._

The ER doors open again, and paramedics rush in a woman bleeding from multiple wounds. 

Derek runs forward, throwing himself into helping her, relived his memories are buried for the moment. 

Scared for when they'll return.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Miss Murder by AFI.  
> Hope everyone had a good holiday.  
> Also, can anyone see the puzzle in Isaac's phone number?


	4. You Thought That You Had Won (But You Don't Know the Stars)

Isaac glances over at Stiles. The late afternoon sun is starting to dip, painting his dark hair gold as he stares out the window of the bus. His neck is shaded, every mole a tiny shadow. His hands are clasped on his lap, long fingers intertwined, wrists disappearing into the sleeves of his red hoodie. 

Even angry at him, Isaac thinks Stiles looks beautiful.

The last three weeks something has changed. Stiles had spent the night, and then spent the night again. At first Isaac figured he was just helping Stiles stay clean, and after the first week, he added that Stiles had been Scott's best friend, and that he owed Stiles, for Scott's sake. But by the end of the second week, Isaac knows there's something more. How when he wakes up the first thing his eyes drift to is Stile's sleeping form. How he likes lying back on his bed listening to Stile's ramble on inanely about whatever is in his head. How nice it is to head out on his lunch break and find Stiles waiting for him, grinning with a pair of coupons for Burger King. 

But it's more than the things he does, it's him, too. When he smiles Isaac's heart feels a little lighter, when he announces it's his eighteenth day without heroin with honest, open happiness something in Isaac cheers. And occasionally at first but with increasing regularity, Isaac finds himself picturing Stile's in his life beyond the span of the next few weeks. And it should be painful, it should feel like he's betraying Scott's memory but..it doesn't. It just feels nice, to think that way.

And then he'd come home from work to find Stiles passed out and barely breathing with a needle in his arm.

That had been... painful. Beyond the initial shock and fear, that had been a pain all to real, one that had taken him back to that night in the desert, and even further, to that night in his mother's kitchen.

The bus drops them off two blocks from Isaac's apartment, and they walk into the house as they rode the bus and left the hospital- in silence. It's only when they're upstairs, and the door is locked behind them that the silence is broken. What's surprising is that it's Stiles who speaks first.

"I'm sorry," he says. Isaac leans back against the door and looks at Stile's dead on.

"Why, Stiles?"

"It's not important," says Stiles dismissively, unzipping his hoodie and going over to the closet to hang it up.

"Stiles, tell me why I found you almost dead on my floor," says Isaac. When Stiles doesn't answer Isaac presses further.

"Were you trying to kill yourself? Tell me that at least."

Stiles looks up at that, and the look on his face is honestly one of shock.

"No Isaac...God no," says Stiles, sounding pained "I wasn't..." Stiles takes a deep breath and continues

"I wouldn't do that, alright? I honestly was just shooting up, I didn't think it would kill me. And I wouldn't...I wouldn't do that here, you know?" he says gesturing with both arms around the room.

Hearing this, Isaac lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding, and sits down on the bed (the futon still has Stiles' blanket and pillow folded up on it). A moment later Stiles sits down next to him.

"So, if you weren't trying to kill yourself than why...." Isaac begins, but Stiles cuts him off.

"I ran into someone," he says. Isaac sits still, waiting for him to continue.

"I was down at the coffee shop, asking about a job application..." 

"You were looking for a job?" Isaac interrupts, surprised.

"Not really the point of this story but yes, Isaac, I was out seeking employment. To be honest I need something to do while you're at work all day. So as I was saying, I was asking about a job application, and someone said my name behind me. I turned around and it was...it was this girl I went to school with. Her name's Lydia and she wasn't...wasn't too thrilled to see me," Stiles pauses and Isaac sees him struggling to continue. A part of Isaac wants to hold him close, put his arms around him but...he can't. He just can't, no matter how much he may care for Stiles.

"I don't blame her, you know," Stiles gets out, eventually "about a year ago I asked her if she could loan me some money to help me fix my jeep. She was such a good friend, and knew I was going through a hard time with Scott being gone so she gave it to me, no questions asked. And then...a few weeks later she came over to my place and demanded to know why she'd just seen someone else driving my jeep around and she caught me shooting up." Stiles purses his lips and seems to ponder for a few seconds before continuing

"So...yeah. She was about to tell my dad, but I pleaded with her not to, told her I knew I was sick but I couldn't fight it, I needed help, my dad would have to arrest me it would ruin his career if anyone found out his son was a heroin junkie...I said everything I knew would get her to not tell anyone, and it worked. She agreed to help me. And in return I stole two hundred bucks from her and got on a bus to Hill Valley. And I stayed there until I found out my dad had been shot. I'm a terrible person, Isaac."

Isaac looks over at Stiles, and sees that he looks..exhausted. Like the whole revelation had drained him. 

"You're not a terrible person, Stiles," says Isaac.

"Really?" asks Stiles, sounding angry. He gets up and turns to look down at Isaac, saying   
"I stole from my friends, from my father Isaac. I stole money to buy heroin. I sold my Jeep, the last thing I had from my mother to afford my rent so I could stay in my apartment and do shit all freaking day. I've stolen money, I've pretended to be from a charity to get people to gov me cash, I've stolen iPods and computers and sold them and I've lied- I've lied to my friends, to Scott's friends, to myself. Isaac I have no friends anymore. They all found out how I cheated them and cut me out. Lydia, today, started yelling in the middle of the place about how I'd probably steal from the till to "put more shit in your arm" that's what she said Isaac. She was my best friend after Scott died. How am I not a terrible person Isaac?"

Isaac stands up and looks Stiles straight in the face.

"You're not a terrible person Stiles. You're a good person who's done terrible things. And I'm your friend."

Stiles stares at him, slack jawed for a moment. 

And then Stiles is leaning forward and he kisses him.

Isaac is surprised, for a moment. But then he's fisting his hand in Stiles hair and kissing him back, and they've tumbled onto the bed and he's not surprised anymore, because this just feels...right.

It's only later, when they're lying side by side as the sun sets outside, that Isaac begins to worry about what just happened- that he should have said no, that this is wrong for him to want so soon after losing Scott, that he's going to lose Stiles because he's Isaac Lahey and everyone he loves is taken from him. Looking up at the ceiling, Isaac takes a breath.

_In out. In out. Inhale oxygen, exhale carbon dioxide. Simple realities. Your name is Isaac Lahey. You're twenty-two years old. Your father killed your mother. Your father abused you. Your best friend and lover died in that desert. None of this is your fault. One day you will understand this._

Turning to his left, he sees Stiles dozing, his eyes closed and peaceful.

_You're also in love with your lover's best friend. One day that will make sense._

And Isaac chooses to believe that.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Breathe Carolina's See the Sky featuring HALIENE.  
> This chapter might be slightly...confusing, but I'm writing from Stiles' perspective next, and that should fill in some of the blank spots.   
> Based on this however, the story will probably (definitely) wind up being longer than five chapters.


	5. You'll Sing this Song As You Think of Me

_Warm._

  
That's Stiles' first impression. He feels warm, lying in bed, with Isaac's heat next to him.

  
_Relaxed._

  
There's no chaotic energy, no cycles of quick decisions here- shoot up, grab that, fuck me, run the cops are here, c'mon melt, pull it tight- followed by waves of mellowness. Things are just effortlessly calm.

  
_Safe._

  
That's the biggest one, and the strangest feeling for Stiles'. He hasn't felt safe for as long as he could remember. His mother had died when he was ten, and since then he'd known that death could strike someone down anywhere, at any time, for no reason or logic whatsoever. The drugs hadn't made him feel safe, but they had let him keep his brain from the near constant obsession he'd lived with before he'd started taking them.

  
And yet...this defied logic too. The last time he'd had sex had been nearly a month ago. It'd been with two people he occasionally would meet and shoot up with- Theo and Tracy he thinks their names are- and that had been mindless fucking followed by the three of them wrapped around each other in a happy heroin cocoon. He'd been blissed out, happy, and free of any thoughts or cares...but he hadn't felt safe. He just hadn't cared.

Now, he was in bed with one person. He was fully aware of the situation- mere hours ago he'd almost died from an overdose, he had no job, no prospects to support himself without Isaac, and death was still everywhere and a constant fear. Beyond all that, he and Isaac weren't even touching. Even when they fucked the touching had been at a minimum, and mostly it was kissing. But even now,  with Isaac on the other side of the mattress, he felt safe. Not that he didn't care, but somehow, all of his problems didn't matter, and maybe they could be fixed.

  
Isaac made him feel safe, that was the heart of it. It was why he had stayed that first night, and the night after that and for the last three weeks. It's how it was easier for him to stay clean when he had someone coming home to look forward too, someone to talk to, someone to just..be with. And when Isaac had called them friends-literally hours after his last friend had vented her full fury on him- he'd realized the truth. He didn't just feel safe because of Isaac. He felt safe because with Isaac, he could see his good points, could see happiness. 

  
Could see a future.

  
He feels Isaac shift next to him and opens his eyes to look at him. It's dark in the room, with the only light coming from a street lamp outside, but Stiles can still make out Isaac's outline, laid out flat on his back, arms folded behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.

  
"Hey," Stile's says. Isaac cocks his head towards Stiles.

  
"Hey," he says back, and even in the dark Stiles' can tell he's smiling.

  
"What time is it?" asks Stiles. Isaac turns over and checks the digital clock that sits on the floor.

  
"7:32," he says, turning back.

  
"Mmm, we slept for almost five hours," says Stiles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

   
"We did. Are you hungry?" asks Isaac. Stiles' realizes he is hungry, starving actually.

  
"Totally famished man," he says.

  
"Then lets get dressed, I know a place," says Isaac, rolling out of bed and pulling on his boxers. Stiles' follows suit, and minutes later they're out on the street. Stiles' shivers slightly- it's almost winter and even with his hoodie it's cold.

  
"You need a better jacket," says Isaac.

  
"Do you have the money to pay for it?" asks Stiles sarcastically.

  
"Actually there's a really cheap thrift store out of Beacon Hills Catholic Church, it's where I got most of my clothes when I got back stateside," says Isaac.

  
"Great, used clothes," says Stiles. 

  
"Well you know what they say about beggars," says Isaac.

  
"They beg?"

  
Isaac chuckles and they walk in companionable silence until they reach the main part of town. From there Isaac leads them to a tiny Mexican restaurant where nothing on the menu is more than five dollars. They order tacos and chips and sit at a booth. For awhile they don't talk. And then Stiles' gets jumpy from the silence and says

  
"So...we had sex."

  
"Yeah, I noticed that," says Isaac, grinning.

  
"Good, good I should hope so," says Stiles. He knows he's being awkward, but hey, he's always awkward. The world can deal with it.

  
"So, um...you're probably wondering why I kissed you," he continues. Isaac shakes his head and shrugs saying

  
"No, not really."

  
"You're not?" asks Stiles, surprised.

  
"No, I just kind of figured you kissed me because you liked me. Was I wrong?" he asks, looking Stiles dead in the eyes and sounding serious.

  
"No you were right I do like you, I just wondered if..."

  
"I like you too," says Isaac, cutting him off. And Stiles has nothing to say to that, except to smile. The food comes and they both start eating. He's halfway through a taco before he realizes theres something he still needs to ask Isaac.

"So... Isaac," he starts, and Isaac looks up from his food.

"Y'ea?" he asks, mouth full.

"I need to tell you something," Stiles starts. Isaac quickly swallows the food and says 

"Okay, what is it?"

"So...when Scott was overseas, he and I would email. He was always pretty busy, but he always got back to my emails." Stiles takes a deep breath to steady himself, because she knows the next part is going to hurt them both.

"In the um, in his last email, you know he was coming home in a month or so, he said that...he said that he'd met someone, in Kabul, and when he got back he wanted me to meet them," Stiles says, and he notices the way Isaac's entire body has stiffened up, eyes locked on a spot on the table but probably not seeing it.

"He...he wouldn't say who it was, and he wouldn't tell me anything about this person, only that...whoever it was made him happy, made him laugh, and that he loved them," Stiles continues. Isaac clenches his fingers around the taco and some of the lettuce and chicken spills out.

"Isaac was...was that you?" Stiles asks, his heart hammering.

Isaacs completely still, for a moment. Then he takes a breath, and Stiles can see his lips trembling, like he's reciting something. It's a behavior he's noticed Isaac do several times, and he figures it's a coping mechanism. Finally Isaac looks up at Stiles, and nods.

"That was me," he says. He takes another breath, and continues

"I...I don't know how it happened. Neither one of us planned on it, really we just sort of...happened. And suddenly I had this wonderful lover, who was also my best friend. I had...I had someone who knew me, and I knew had my back in every way. And that was wonderful. Because before that I never thought I'd even...." Isaac breaks off, and Stiles can see that he'd too choked up with emotion to continue. So he says something he hasn't said, ever, because he's never believed it

"Isaac, you don't have to tell me now. I'm not going anywhere."

Nothings changed. He still feels like death is everywhere, and can strike him at any moment. How it could happen consumes his un-concious mind. But the reality is, he's not going anywhere. He's going to stay with Isaac, no matter what it takes.

And when Isaac leans across the table and kisses him, he feels like that's even more possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from When I'm Away by the Colourist


	6. Seeing Friends Above- I Hit Another Low

Derek knocks back his shot of whisky and slams it down on the counter.

"Another," he says. Behind the counter Marin, the bartender, folds her arm and cocks an eyebrow.

"Please," Derek says. She nods and pours him another shot.

"You know," she says "a lot of my friends complain about being single during the holidays, but not me."

"No?" asks Derek, picking up the glass.

"Nope," she says as he drains it "because every Christmas Eve for the last five years, I've had you, right here. In this bar. On that very same barstool."

_She feels sorry for you, you pathetic excuse for a person._

"Well," he says, putting the glass down "what can I say, I like it here," gesturing to the rest of The Nemeton as he does.

"Yeah, it's great in here," says Marin "it's kinda dark, almost empty and I purposefully don't decorate for the holidays."

"Don't sell yourself short, the food also sucks and your alcohol is overpriced," says Derek defensively.

"And yet you're still here, the majority of your free time," she says.

"It's close to where I work," he says.

"So's your apartment Derek," she says. She pours him another shot and walks down the bar to handle a new customer.

Derek sighs. He knows Marin means well, but sometimes she undoes the whole point of coming here. Not to forget, he's not an alcoholic. 

No, Derek knows he comes here because this is where he can ignore his problems- just for a few hours, he can come into this place that hasn't changed since he was a teenager washing dishes in the kitchen, and he doesn't have to think about everything. 

_Can't handle reality, Derek?_

Everything BUT himself that is.

Marin comes back and slides a bowl of pretzels over to Derek.

"Look, Derek, I know you have your ways of dealing with stuff," she says "but you need people. This-" she waves her hand around the bar "coming in and getting wasted anytime a holiday comes up? That's not healthy."

"Quit judging me," growls Derek "how long has it been since you've talked to Alan?"

"That's completely different," she says "we were both at fault then. You're not responsible for what happened with your family or Ka-"

Derek stands up, throws a $20 onto the bar and storms out into the cold. As he walks with his coat pulled up against the wind he thinks idly that anyone witnessing that would've thought he was angry. Bitterly, he thinks how wrong they are.

He hadn't felt angry. He'd felt sick.

The terrible, gut tingling sickness he felt whenever he thought about Kate Argent. He'd trusted her, loved her, and done everything she'd asked to please her. And it was only after the dust had settled, that the fires had been put out and he was watching his family be lowered into the ground that he realized exactly what it was she'd done to him.

He wasn't angry at anyone other for himself. He should have been..smarter, he guesses. More aware. Less of an angsty teen. Anything that could have stopped the catastrophe that had forever changed his life.

_"You need me Derek, you know that right?"_

_"I love you."_

_"Yes you do."_

The memory makes Derek feel worse. He's halfway home when he realizes he never actually ate dinner, and he's starving. Mentally he thinks that there's oatmeal, two eggs, some kale and a bottle of vodka in his fridge, and that prospect for Christmas Eve dinner is too bleak even for him.

He winds up in a Mexican restaurant eating a surprisingly cheap chicken empanada when the door opens and he looks up briefly and sees two people who look..familiar.

It's two men, early twenties, one with messy brown hair and a black fleece jacket, the other one with blonde hair and a worn out hoodie and scarf. They sit down in a both on the other side of the room and Derek keeps an eye on them, trying to work out how he knows them.

He's still trying to put it together when the messy-haired one glances in his direction and catches him staring. He sees Messy-Hair have a brief moment of confusion, before realization dawns and he waves. Derek waves back, still unsure as to who he is. It's not until the blonde turns and looks at him with his icy blue eyes that Derek remembers the OD victim who'd come in the month before- Steven, Derek thinks his name was. They turn back to each other, and seeing them together sends a stab of pain through Derek's heart. Because he sees the easiness with which they talk to each other, and how absolutely happy they look to be with each other. Worse they're younger than him, and he's jealous.

He's twenty-six, and he's never had a relationship.

_And you never will._

 

Derek finishes his food and signals for the check. He pays cash and leaves as soon as possible, heading for his apartment.

Once he steps through the door he goes straight for his kitchenette and pulls the vodka out of the freezer. He pours out a glass and drinks the whole thing, then pours another.

 _Merry Christmas_ , he thinks to himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Takes Me Nowhere by The Offspring.  
> Originally, Derek was supposed to meet Stiles and Isaac and they would have started a friendship in this chapter. However, examining Derek's character I realized it's too soon for that to happen.  
> Potentially that'll happen when Derek's next chapter cycles through.  
> Happy New Year!


	7. Nourish It A Little, Then Let It Free

"Do you think Derek left the restaurant because of us?"

Isaac, who's in the middle of blowing Stiles, looks up at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. He's gotten fairly good over the last month at dealing with the thousand random directions Stiles' mind will take him, including but not limited to during sex.

Still, they'd spent the majority of dinner discussing Derek, and his abrupt departure, and why he was alone on Christmas Eve, and Isaac was fairly certain they were done with the discussion for the evening.

Of course, if Isaac's learned anything from Stiles, it's that he's  _never_ done with a topic.

Pulling off, Isaac looks up at Stiles and says

"Do you want to have sex or talk about Derek?"

Stiles, who's lying back against the pillows, seems to consider it.

"Wait, you actually have to think about that?" Isaac asks.

"Well yeah, I mean...they're both pretty interesting," Stiles responds. Isaac huffs a sigh and rolls over onto his back.

"Okay Stiles, lets talk about Derek," he says.

"I just...I don't know I feel like I know him, or something," says Stiles, flapping his hands for emphasis. 

"He was your nurse when you OD'd," says Isaac.

"No, that's not it. I felt like I recognized him from somewhere back then too," says Stiles.

"Okay..." says Isaac, curious despite himself.

"Derek...Derek... this is driving me crazy I know that name! I just..." Stiles gets up and starts pacing, arms flapping wildly while Isaac watches, bemused.

"Okay Stiles, where do you think you heard the name?" asks Isaac. Stiles pauses and considers.

"Umm...it must have been awhile ago...maybe my dad?" he says, sounding unsure.

"Okay. Maybe your dad arrested him or something?" Isaac offers.

"Nah, that can't be it he looks like he's in pain, not a criminal," says Stiles flippantly. That touches something in Isaac, and suddenly he feels the need to tell Stiles something he know will be painful, knows will be hard. But it's been a month and he's honestly falling for the lanky hyperactive mess that is Stiles Stilinski so he knows he needs to.

"Do I look like a murderer?" he asks.

That stops Stiles dead in his tracks as he rotates his head to look at Isaac.

"Isaac what are you talking about?"

"I've killed people, Stiles. I aimed a gun, sighted them, and killed them. I was good at it too," says Isaac, struggling hard to say what he knows he needs to.

"People are dead because of me, Stiles. Because I'm the one who killed them. I'm a killer."

"Isaac, Isaac," says Stiles, dropping down onto the mattress and settling close to Isaac.

"Isaac that was...that was war you didn't have a choice..."

"Didn't I?" asks Isaac "I chose to join the Army, I chose to go and fight. And so what if it was war? Does that make it okay that somewhere, someone never went home to their family?  That someone's father, or brother, or son was lost?" Isaac stares up at the ceiling, and he doesn't see the plaster, just the desert, and the people, their faces, their eyes...

Isaac closes his eyes and starts repeating. _In out. In out. Inhale oxygen, exhale carbon dioxide. Simple realities. Your name is Isaac Lahey. You're twenty-two years old. Your father killed your mother. Your father abused you. Your best friend and lover died in that desert. None of this is your fault. One day you will understand this._

_You're falling in love with Stiles Stilinski. This will make sense one day too._

When he opens his eyes, Stiles is still there, and he's looking at Isaac with a pained look. Isaac knows that look. It's not the judgmental look he gets from anti-war people, or the anger of the patriotic assholes who act like he should be proud to have killed people. Its the therapeutic, I-wish-I-knew-how-to-help-you look, and surprisingly, that makes Isaac feel better. Because one thing he knows he can count on amidst Stiles' complete insanity, is that he's honest. 

Stiles presses a gentle kiss against Isaacs cheek, and then lies down next to him- not touching, but close enough so Isaac knows someone else is there.

Its' the only problem with Stiles' honesty. He won't fake that he's okay with touching Isaac outside of sex, and Isaac won't reach out-period. So in those moments when they need to be together, and close to one another, this is as close as they can get.

Isaac thinks back to his mother who always made excuses for his father, and to Scott who'd bled out on the road.

 _Love's never perfect_ , he thinks. And glancing over at Stiles, and feeling his weight and heat so close, Isaac is okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Sounds of Change by The Dirty Heads.   
> Isaac's lines, talking about his time in the Army, is nearly word for word the same conversation I've had with a family member who is a veteran.  
> To the continuity of the story, Isaac is falling for Stiles, and yet there is something missing. Perhaps Stiles will pick up on that in the next chapter, if he hasn't already.  
> No idea when the next chapter will be up. Busy week ahead.


End file.
